


Erasing the Pages

by anagum



Category: Death Note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anagum/pseuds/anagum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her sketchbooks had become purely educational, and she learned to focus on the exactness of her talent, rather than drawing little boys in vain, sketching each replica into her brittle heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erasing the Pages

Linda didn’t need to prove her femininity. Neither did she have to flaunt her womanly attributes to those who stared. It never came to her the importance of heels and makeup, mundane objects that enhanced the shape and size of one’s features. One’s true beauty, if that was even a worthy quality, came from intelligence and exceptionality. At least she had learned over the years. What were they useful for anyway? 

Linda didn’t know much about love either. If anything, she had been taught not to know. Once, she remembered, a girl had pushed her over the mud, caught staring at the boy with the white hair she once watched with secrecy.

“Don’t even consider it. Stand up and learn your place.” She had told her coldly, and left her in the rain, her eyes as humid as the weather. In that moment, she learned where her passion really rested, to succeed the man that all of them adored. No more and no less. Love rested on learning, logic and the improvement of your capacity. Fairy tales had all lied to her.

And so Linda learned to hate her docility. She had pulled back her long locks of brown into two pigtails, to keep them out of her occupied eyes as she read countless books, trying to memorize every line and word, to reason. Her knees were scraped, playing with boys much more rowdy than her, learning to hurt in silence. Her sketchbooks had become purely educational, and she learned to focus on the exactness of her talent, rather than drawing little boys in vain, sketching each replica into her brittle heart.

Being a woman didn’t make you any more different than being human. Sure, your physiology was not the same, it was messy to menstruate your first time and you wanted (or at least it seemed) to cry more often than boys, but that wouldn’t define who she was. Real love and beauty didn’t depend on roles that society placed on you, your natural predispositions, emotions, rather, what you made out of yourself.

Once upon a time she could have met a boy, fallen in love, even started a family, but Linda wasn’t foolish enough to believe in those things.


End file.
